Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

“WE CAN’T BE SURE OF THAT,” KITTY SAID QUICKLY. WHY WAS Margot so intent on placing the blame on a member of DGM?

Margot sighed, clearly frustrated. She spun back to her laptop, fingers blazing over the keyboard, then pulled away to reveal a photo on the screen.

It was a long metal baseball bat, the bottom third of which was thickly coated in a dark red substance. It stood leaning against a dresser, and the same reddish-brown liquid had seeped into the beige carpet, staining it.

Kitty’s brain refused to process what she was seeing. It dawned on her slowly, painfully.

“You hacked into the police database?” she asked.

Margot didn’t answer.

“Oh my God,” Olivia gasped. “Isn’t that illegal? Can’t they find you and track you down and send us all to . . .” Her voice choked off.

“Juvie,” Bree said. “We get it. You’re obsessed with juvie.”

“I’ve randomized the IP address,” Margot said simply. “Even if they could trace us through the satellite modem, the search won’t lead them here.”

Bree arched an eyebrow. “Not gonna lie, Margot. You’re freaking me out a little bit.”

Margot ignored her. She clicked the mouse rapidly, scrolling through several photos of the crime scene, then stopped. This time, all three of them gasped at the picture on the screen.

The photo was of a male hand, palm down on a bed. Blood splatter coated the gray-and-white striped bedspread like a Jackson Pollack, redder and more violently eye-catching than it had been on the bat or the carpet. Tucked beneath the hand, a white note card with three letters printed in a neat black font, reminiscent of an old typewriter: DGM.

“So much for going to the po-po,” Bree said, slumping against the wall. “They’d never believe us.”

“They have to,” Olivia squeaked.

“Who has the rest of the DGM cards?” Kitty asked.

Bree slowly raised her hand. “But I didn’t kill Ronny.”

Kitty sighed. “Of course not. I’m wondering who might have had access to your room.” She stared at the photo on Margot’s computer. The DGM moniker might be the key to finding the killer. “It must have been stolen. How many people have actually seen one of those cards up close long enough to have been able to create an exact replica?”

Margot looked right at her. “You mean besides the four of us?”

“Stop it!” Kitty cried. “We’ve got to stick together if we’re going to figure out who killed Ronny and why.”

Margot turned her steely gaze on Kitty, so implacable it made her uncomfortable. “Is that what we’re going to do?” she said softly.

“I . . .” Kitty’s voice trailed off. Twelve hours ago, Don’t Get Mad had been a united front. Suddenly, in the wake of Ronny’s death, Kitty could see the cracks forming. Blame, guilt, distrust, fear. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Look,” she said. “If we want to avoid getting blamed, we need to find out who actually killed him.”

“Fine,” Margot said. She clasped her hands in front of her. “If we assume that one of us didn’t do it, then there are two logical possibilities: either someone wanted to kill Ronny and used DGM as a scapegoat, or someone wanted to frame us for murder, and killed Ronny to do so.”

“But why Ronny?” Olivia asked. “And who would want to frame us for murder?”

“You mean other than Coach Creed?” Bree asked.

Bree had a point. After DGM’s public humiliation of Coach Creed, he’d definitely be a suspect. Kitty nodded. “Creed runs first-period leadership. I can keep an eye on him.”

“Rex,” Olivia added. “He said at lunch the other day that he’d do whatever it took to bring down DGM.”

“Good,” Kitty said. “Then he’s your assignment.”

“I think Rex and Ronny knew each other,” Bree said. “Or had a mutual friend. They had a weird conversation in phys ed on Thursday that made Rex twitchy.”

“Even better,” Kitty said. “Olivia, look into it.”

“I’ll go through Ronny’s hard drive,” Margot said. “Maybe I’ll find a clue.”

Bree sat up. “I saw something in Ronny’s room.”

“Yeah?” Kitty prompted.

Bree tilted her head to the side as if suddenly confused; then she rushed over to Margot’s laptop. “Scroll back,” she ordered. “Through the crime scene photos. I want to see something.”

Everyone’s eyes were locked on the screen as Margot clicked back through the photos. Most of them were mundane, photos of a messy room meant to document its exact condition when the body was discovered. After two dozen or so photos, Bree straightened up.

“Stop!” she shouted, then tapped the screen. “It’s not there,” she said. “Someone took it.”

Kitty peered at the photo. It showed Ronny’s bedroom door, half-open, with dirty laundry shoved into the corner behind it. “What’s not there?”

“A list,” Bree said quickly. “There was a list on his door with three names: Coach Creed, Rex Cavanaugh, and Theo Baranski.”

“Removing evidence from a crime scene is against the law,” Margot said.

Bree clicked her tongue. “So is murder.”

“You think the killer took the list,” Margot said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Bree said.

“Any idea what those names have in common with Ronny?” Kitty asked.

Bree shook her head. “Nada.”

“Okay.” Kitty glanced around the room. “Everyone keep their eyes open on that one. If the names are all connected to Ronny, it might point us toward his killer.” Kitty smiled. They were thinking like a team again.

“Anything else?” Bree asked, checking the time on her phone.

“You can make a list of who had access to the DGM cards,” Kitty said, her voice stern.

“And keep an eye on John Baggott,” Margot added.

Bree whirled on her. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Margot remained unnervingly calm. “He’s your best friend, he has access to the DGM cards, and he’s Father Uberti’s number-one suspect. I’d say that makes him very much involved.”

“I’m sure he’s got nothing to do with Ronny’s death,” Kitty said, trying to pacify Bree. “But if Father Uberti’s on his case, it might not be such a bad idea if you kept an eye on him. For his own safety.”

Bree turned her back. “Fine.”

“We’ll lie low,” Kitty continued. “No contact at all unless there’s an emergency, okay? And let’s meet at the warehouse one week from tonight to see what we’ve come up with. If we can’t trust F.U. or the police to give us the benefit of the doubt, then we’ll have to find Ronny’s killer ourselves.”